


Three Days In The Life Of

by Black14embers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras' dad is cool, I'm not naming all the characters, M/M, by me, have fun., his brother is ew., so not really, take a glance at Enjolras' life, you should read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8154767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black14embers/pseuds/Black14embers
Summary: Awkward family dinner, check.Cooking spectacle, check.Sick day, check.Failing law case, yes.Annoying brother, yup.It was an average day in the life of Enjolras, well average three days that is.





	1. It started with dinner:

_For all that Enjolras knew, there were three enigmas he did not._

_Being that he was capable of an okay relationship with Grantaire and his Parents._  
_Being that for some incomprehensible reason Les Amis thought he couldn't cook._  
_Being that he always got sick hours before a case._

_Yet somehow all three enigmas were solved within three days, well… somewhat solved._

-:-

“How was the case?” Combeferre asked barely looking up as Enjolras stumbled through the door, tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“Everything I didn't want to happen,” Enjolras growled falling down beside Combeferre. “Pretty much happened.”

“You're Counsellor Theodore Enjolras, son of Senator Frederick Enjolras.” Combeferre reminded. “Don't tell me you can't solve a simple he says/she says case.”

“If only it were that,” Enjolras muttered darkly.

“New development.” Combeferre inquired setting down his book.

“Not my place to say, my friend.” Enjolras said staring up at the ceiling fan above them. “It's going downhill for my client.”

“Changing topics before you blow a fuse,” Combeferre interrupted. “How's your not-a-relationship-but-it-definitely-is-a-relationship going?”

“It's not,” Enjolras sighed taking off his tie and chucking it on the desk.

“Well since it isn't happening, I suppose you won't want the message Grantaire left for you?” Combeferre asked completely baiting him.

“What message!” Enjolras exclaimed wide-eyed.

“It's on the fridge, blue post-it-note.” Combeferre said watching with a smirk as Enjolras stiffly got off the couch.

Three..  
Two…  
One…

“Damnit it all to hell!” Enjolras shouted marching back into the kitchen. “I can't go tonight… I need to revise over case notes, check footage I can't do this ‘Ferre!”

“You don't have a choice, mate,” Combeferre reminded. “It's your parents and your brother; your dad won't take no for an answer.”

“In going to stab Grantaire with his own paintbrush!” Enjolras vowed gripping the blue post-it-note so tightly his knuckles went bright white. “If I lose this case I'm so screwed.”

“Courfeyrac's there tomorrow, remember?” Combeferre placated. “He will deal with your client, the next part of the case is his job.”

“But still I need to advise him and the client, I need to rewatch the footage…  
‘Ferre I can't,” Enjolras interjected looking at his friend with pleading blue eyes.

“You can deal with that tomorrow, alright?” Combeferre ordered. “Right now you have half an hour to get dressed and be at that family dinner, with ‘Taire.”

“I swear to god you've all got it in for my demise.” Enjolras muttered pivoting in direction of the hall.

“Don't wear a suit! Your dad’ll think you're lazy and didn't get changed after the case!” Combeferre shouted.

“Fine, _Mother_!” Enjolras growled sarcastically glancing at his watch and swearing under his breath.

-:-

“The red suits you,” Grantaire commented as they waited outside for Enjolras’ family.

“Don't clean up so bad yourself,” Enjolras commented noting the surprisingly not paint covered, white dress shirt and grey waistcoat.

“Theo!” A feminine voice exclaimed loudly, interrupting Enjolras.

“Mama,” Enjolras smiled turning around to hug the shorter women.

Enjolras’ mother: Jocelyn Enjolras was 4’8” with a mess of greying blonde curls and a milky olive complexion. She would either be found wearing a flowing floral dress or a pencil skirt and blouse.

Enjolras was pleased to see she wasn't wearing a stiff secretarial outfit; instead she adorned a blue floral dress and sparkling pearl earrings.

“You look lovely,” Jocelyn exclaimed crushing Enjolras to her.

“Merci Mama,” Enjolras choked out wriggling out of his mother’s grip.

“And you René,” She smiled. “You're looking ever the artist with that paint splotch”

Enjolras chuckled and cringed at his Mother’s bluntness, but let out a sigh of relief as she beamed widely and hugged Grantaire tightly.

“Hi?” Grantaire squeaked inhaling deeply as soon as he was released from the hug.

“Where is Andre and Papa?” Enjolras inquired stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Dawdling as usual,” Jocelyn chided tiredly.

“Dawdling? Us? Never!” Andre shouted hooking his arm around Enjolras in a half hug. “Nice to see you and your boy toy, brother dearest!”

“Andre Matthias Enjolras, you take that back right now!” Jocelyn screeched rounding in on her eldest child.

“Sorry mama,” Andre said unapologetically; releasing Enjolras’ shoulder and clapping Grantaire on the shoulder. “Still painting?”

“Sure,” Grantaire muttered tightly, concealing his distaste for Enjolras’ brother just barely.

“Andre stop being a prick to your brother and René,” Enjolras’ father said as he found the four bickering members of his family.

Frederick Enjolras was a looming man, but fair man nonetheless. He was 6’7” with blonde hair (greyed at the temples) and a pension for sending younger boys into tears with his shattering blue gaze. He was usually found wearing a suit and a stiff collared shirt. He had opted for a dress shirt and tie, looking less formal than usual, but not by much.

“Papa!” Enjolras greeted tackling his Father in a side hug.

Despite what tabloids said, Enjolras did not despise his father, nor did his father despise him. They had a bond stronger then that of Andre and their father.

“Your hair looks terrible, you child.” Frederick remarked a small smile on his face nonetheless.

-:-

“So how's your case going?” Andre asked as he took a long sip from his wine glass.

“Why would you care!” Enjolras snarled glaring at his brother's careless figure. “Your precinct put that girl in this situation, your agent set her up with those drug charges.”

“We were just doing our jobs,” Andre responded narrowing his eyes dangerously at his younger brother.

“Manipulating young people counts as your job?” Enjolras scoffed. “I call bullshit!”

“Our agent didn't manipulate anybody!” Andre growled leaning dangerously close to Enjolras’ face. “We followed protocol.”

“She got your agent the drugs, because she fancied them!” Enjolras seethed. “Your agent specifically asked for them to take the money. Because they knew that if she didn't take the money, the girl technically wouldn't have sold it.”

“That's just a lie you prick!” Andre claimed. “That girl’s just manipulated you into believing her bat shit story.”

“Like you'd know! You insolent pig!” Enjolras snapped leaning over the table at his brother.

“Alright cool it you two,” Frederic interjected just as Grantaire put a restraining hand on Enjolras’ arm.

Enjolras let out an angry puff of air, and sat back down in his chair blushing as he realized he'd cause a few bystanders to peer at them strangely.

“Let's changed the topic,” Jocelyn said, voice slightly strangled. “How is your gallery coming along?”

“Askjdg,” Grantaire spluttered choking on his water slightly. “Building’s good; we just need to get the windows put in and it'll be finished.”

“Ah that's good,” Jocelyn grinned. “Isn't that nice Rick?”

“Yes nice,” Frederick said glancing around the small Italian restaurant distractedly. “I hear you're approaching young artists for showcasings.”

“Ah yes we are, giving younger kids chances in the art business and all that.” Grantaire said stiffly fiddling with his fork awkwardly.

“It's good work René,” Jocelyn reassured patting Grantaire's shoulder awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered stiffly.

“What talent are fetuses going to have?” Andre scoffed with his usual distaste.

“I'll be sure to tell Mayor Ferguson that,” Grantaire replied raising an eyebrow at Andre. “I'm sure she'll value your opinion, on her daughters art.”

Andre balked at the mention of the mayor’s name and made no response, ultimately satisfying Grantaire.

Enjolras practically had to smother the smirk that was trying to settle on his face.

His brother had never been so docile and quiet before.

-:-

“Well that could've gone better,” Grantaire sighed as they sat outside his apartment in Enjolras’ car.

“At least I didn't punch Andre this time,” Enjolras offered leaning on the wheel of his car tiredly.

“At least your Father didn't interrogate me to death,” Grantaire responded gripping Enjolras’ hand tightly. “So I’ll see you at your place tomorrow?”

“Yup, I'm cooking.” Enjolras said staring wistfully at Grantaire’s green eyes.

“Lord have mercy upon us all then.” Grantaire exclaimed dramatically.

“Oh shut up you've never even tried my cooking!” Enjolras growled.

“If it's anything like your art skills, I don't think I want to try it.” Grantaire said.

“Your such an arse.” Enjolras scowled turning his head against the wheel to face Grantaire.

“But I'm your arse.” Grantaire grinned smacking a kiss against Enjolras’ cheek and bounding out the car.

“Love you!” Grantaire called behind him as he jogged towards his apartment.

“Love you,” Enjolras laughed smiling at Grantaire’s retreating back fondly.

 

 


	2. It continued with cooking:

Enjolras walked through the door with a small smile on his face; hands tucked in jean pockets.  
  
The apartment was bathed in darkness and Enjolras could faintly hear Courfeyrac’s snoring. Enjolras ran a hand through his curls and placed his keys on the kitchen bench, placing himself on barstool and musing over the day’s happenings.

“Do we need to worry about assault charges this time?” Combeferre commented out of nowhere.

Enjolras jolted out of his trance and turned in direction of his friend’s voice. “Sorry did I wake you up?”

“No, I'm about to head down to the Hospital, they need more hands,” Combeferre said turning on the kitchen light and shutting the hall door. “But seriously you didn't punch him, did you?”

In the light Enjolras could see that Combeferre was dressed to go, sneakers on and laced up; his usual grey messenger bag swung over his shoulder.

“No, no assault charges. Damnit I'm not that short fused,” Enjolras sighed tapping his fingers against the cool surface of the bench.

Combeferre scoffed but said nothing more, “I’ll see you for dinner this afternoon then; don't blow anything up!”

“Why does nobody believe me when I say I ca-,”  
  
**Bam!**

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the slam of the door and shuffled his feet in direction of his room. He fell onto the bed and smoshed his head into the blue pillow on his bed, fine with sleeping in his shoes.

-:-

Enjolras blinked his eyes open and swore his alarm blaring loudly. He slammed his hand on the clock; effectively silencing it.

“Enj! You up?” Courfeyrac called from the kitchen, having heard the bang.

“Mm- Up? Yes!” Enjolras shouted stumbling out of bed and into the kitchen, still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

“Damn, you going to wear that to court?” Courfeyrac commented tearing a bite out of his toast.

“Court-What court?” Enjolras mumbled pouring coffee into a mug.

“The drug charge case? Ringing any bells mon ami. Enj I'm advocating but you still need to be th-.”

“Holy shit the case!” Enjolras spluttered interrupting Courfeyrac.

Enjolras downed the liquid in two quick gulps and darted back down the hall and into the bathroom; lunging for his toothbrush. He brushed his teeth in breakneck time and took a dive into the shower, scrubbing at his skin and hair with maximum effort.

In under ten minutes Enjolras was darting down the hall in grey socks, tying a red tie into a practiced Windsor knot and smelling like grapefruit body wash.

“Hello again?” Courfeyrac commented typing away on his laptop and noticing his friends sort-of put together appearance.

Courfeyrac himself was dressed in his grey suit pants, white dress shirt, yet to be tied tie, and suspenders. His dress shoes were sitting by the door ready to be used and his grey suit jacket was hung neatly on a coat hanger by the tv.

“How much time do we have?” Enjolras asked fixing his cuff links and watch.

“About twenty minutes till we need to be there,” Courfeyrac explained shutting down his laptop and shuffling his papers. “Didn't you wear that shirt yesterday?”

Enjolras nodded and looked down, he was wearing the same dress shirt from yesterday; but he doubted anyone would notice. Enjolras’ court attire was either a blue dress shirt and grey suit, or a white dress shirt and black suit.

“Like anyone would notice,” Enjolras scoffed tying his shoelaces and leaning over Courfeyrac’s shoulder to peer at the papers. “So you know that you have to milk the whole infatuation part, right?”

“I know, and the fact that the cop specifically asked for our client to take their money,” Courfeyrac repeated.

“Good, the jury should be on our side. Particularly after what happened in the last drug bust.” Enjolras said; his tone darkening.

“Nobody wants a repeat of that,” Courfeyrac mumbled zipping up his laptop bag.

-:-

By the time the case was over it was reaching 4:30.

As soon as they'd reached the apartment entrance, Courfeyrac had shuffled through the door and conked out on the couch suit and all. Enjolras had chuckled fondly and chucked the blue throw over Courfeyrac.

Now Enjolras found himself in the kitchen, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts; cooking lasagna, while listening to Courfeyrac snore and Greenday play on the radio.

He hummed out the lyrics to American Idiot while he chopped up tomatoes with a smile. He vaguely heard the door open and Combeferre step through.  
Enjolras turned around and gave his worn out friend a smile.

“You look exhausted,” Enjolras commented returning to his tomato chopping, before sliding them into the salad bowl.

“Three car pile up,” Combeferre mumbled sitting at the kitchen bench and putting his head in his arms. “And it's the bloody flu season, I apologise if you get sick.”

“If you get me sick I'll burn all your books, I swear to god!” Courfeyrac screeched from the couch, Combeferre’s presence having woken him up.

“Hello to you too,” Combeferre commented drily; watching Enjolras with curiosity. “You aren't planning to poison us all, are you?”

“No...well not yet,” Enjolras replied with a chuckle, leaning to peer up at the clock.

“What's this I hear about poison?” Bahorel bellowed stepping through the unlocked door with Feuilly, Grantaire and Eponine in tow.

“Inside joke,” Enjolras said. “The others are at the conference thing right?”

“Yeah except for Joly, he's stuck in a conference with the PICU director.” Feuilly said falling down on the ratty couch next to Courfeyrac.

“Fun times with Director Bennett.” Combeferre said a dark look in his eyes at the mention of the director.

“Well there's food; it's safe don't worry,” Enjolras interrupted the silence holding out the salad bowl as a peace offering.

“That's pretty much the only reason we're here, Enj, the food.” Eponine commented twirling a brown curl around her finger. “Well apart from R, he just wants to watch you with his lovey dovey gaze.”

Grantaire blushed deeply and darted behind the counter.

“Need any help?” Grantaire squeaked.

“Get the plates out would you?” Enjolras asked motioning to the small grey cupboard, where the cups and plates were stacked.

“It's like watching our son grow up!” Courfeyrac chuckled from the couch. “Finally cooking for us ‘Ferre.”

“Shut up Courfeyrac!” Enjolras scowled throwing a spoon at his friend’s head, who promptly ducked.

“No violence tonight children, please.” Combeferre reprimanded, sounding like a overworked mother.

-:-

Ten minutes later found Enjolras sitting on a barstool listening to his friend’s conversation and Feuilly behind the counter stacking dirty plates.

“So the beanpole comes at me with the stick, right?” Bahorel chuckled leaning against the foot of the couch. “Thinking he can take me on; he then promptly trips over a stray skipping rope and face plants into the gym floor.”

“Damn Bahorel, those poor kids must be terrified of you.” Eponine said.

“I'm a teacher, they should be scared.” Bahorel growled baring his canines in a joke.

“Don't know what possessed school administration to let you teach teenagers.” Enjolras muttered earning a guffaw from everyone.

“Says you!” Bahorel scowled in reference to the unfortunate lecture he'd given at the University a few months ago.

“Don't bring that up,” Enjolras mumbled. “That shall stay unspoken till the end of time.”

“Not for those kids it won't,” Feuilly commented from the kitchen.

“They liked it, it was informative.” Enjolras reassured a scowl settling in on his face.

“And that explains why half of them ran out early?” Combeferre asked.

“Never mind,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Aw you're so mean to poor Apollo!” Grantaire exclaimed running his hand, through his boyfriend’s golden curls.

“Agh!” Enjolras grumbled petulantly. “After all I do for you people!”

-:-

“So you can cook,” Grantaire commented as just he and Enjolras stood by the door.

“I never said I couldn't,” He replied ignoring Courfeyrac’s chuckling from the hallway.

“So tomorrow?” Grantaire asked wrapping his green striped scarf around his neck.

“Tomorrow?” Enjolras echoed eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“Poetry grand slam?” Grantaire asked.

“Oh yeah, I'll come if you pick me up.” Enjolras said with a sly grin.

“2:00 good?” Grantaire asked.

“As ever,” Enjolras said

Grantaire rolled his eyes giving Enjolras a bone crushing hug, and quick kiss before darting down the hall.

“ _And can you feel the love tonight_  
It is where we are  
It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer  
That we got this far  
And can you feel the love tonight  
How it's laid to rest  
It's enough to make kings and vagabonds  
Believe the very best.” Courfeyrac sung from the hallway peeking his head through the doorway

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour!  
> Middle chapter is here guys.  
> Hope you enjoy.  
> Have a good read, and a good night/morning.
> 
> P.s- Song is from the lion king.


	3. It finished with contamination.

As soon as Enjolras opened his eyes, he regretted it. His eyes were congealed together with a collection of goop, his throat scratched like sandpaper every time he swallowed and he was drenched in a cold sweat.

  
“Aghh,” Enjolras mumbled raising a hand to pat down his hair; cringing when is came into contact with a sweaty greasy mess.

  
He groaned to himself, whilst muttering curse words and somehow managed to flounder his way into the kitchen, which was thankfully empty. He scavenged around blearily for a mug and ended up with a chipped Christmas mug of ice cold water, which he downed in two gulps.

  
“Damn,” Courfeyrac whistled, gazing over his friend’s unkempt appearance. “Going for the homeless look I see.”

  
“Shut up,” Enjolras said darkly, cringing at the dry scrape of his throat.

  
“Lord it gets worse,” Courfeyrac commented sauntering over to him, in a pair of black spotted pyjama pants and raising a cold hand to Enjolras’ head.

  
“Stop,” Enjolras grumbled, weakly attempting to bat Courfeyrac’s hand away.

  
“You're like a bloody radiator,” Courfyerac swore, withdrawing his hand.

  
“Who's like a radiator?” Combeferre inquired as he came onto the scene and wormed his way around the pair to observe the situation.

  
“This one,” Courfeyrac grumbled poking his thumb in Enjolras’ direction.

  
“He's exaggerating,” Enjolras mumbled shying away from his friend’s concern.

  
“Pshh exaggerating,” Courfeyrac laughed; before turning serious, “if anything it's an understatement.”

  
“Get over here then,” Combeferre ordered motioning for Enjolras to move to him. Only Enjolras would get sick on his day off.

  
Enjolras muttered something intelligible under his breath but shuffled over to Combeferre nonetheless. Combeferre rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics and put a hand on Enjolras’ head, having the temperature.

  
“You're sick,” Combeferre announced, guiding the blond mess onto the couch.

  
“I'm no-.” Enjolras tried and failed, his protests muffled by his chest erupting into coughs.

  
“You're not what?” Combeferre asked sarcastically.

  
“Never mind,” Enjolras mumbled with a grimace, accepting the blanket Courfeyrac essentially shoved into his arms.

  
“Exactly,” Combeferre breathed, pacified that his friend wasn't trying to be James Bond and dart out the window, to his office.

  
Courfeyrac shook his head at the snuffling blond disaster, and turned to Combeferre in all seriousness. “Who's going to stay with him?” He asked shuffling sock clad feet nervously.

  
“It'll probably be me, I know you have to work,” Combeferre sighed good naturedly, “and I'm the only one who can deal with him. If he wants to be an insufferable ass, I'll just call Joly to deal with his shit.”

  
“Hey!” Enjolras growled indignantly from under the blanket, the statement was ultimately undermined by his pitiful appearance. “I'm not that bad.”

  
“Need I remind you of spring 2015?” Combeferre commented.

  
“Point taken.” Enjolras muttered, a faint blush tinging his cheeks.

  
“Are you sure ‘Ferre?” Courfeyrac asked unsurely, biting his thumb nail.

  
“One can never be sure,” Combeferre turned around to face Enjolras, “especially with this one.”

  
Enjolras rolled his eyes at his friends antics, settling under the blanket and ducking his head into his knees. He wasn't mentally prepared, to not work.

  
“It'll be fun,” Combeferre muttered darkly to himself, as Courfeyrac disappeared down the hall, “just me and a petulant child.”

  
“Much fun,” Enjolras croaked sarcastically; closing his achy, blue eyes and reclining against the large array of pillows on the couch.

  
It wasn't long before Enjolras found himself sleeping, again. To the sound of Combeferre rapping his hands against his knees and Courfeyrac getting ready.

  
-:-

  
“You would, wouldn't you?” Grantaire's familiar drawl muttered, poking into his hazy dreams.

  
“Would what?” Enjolras croaked out, cracking one eye open and peering into Grantaire’s familiar blue orbs.

  
“Get sick, twice in two weeks.” Grantaire sighed sitting down beside Enjolras and pulling Enjolras’ feet into his jean clad lap.

  
“I'm afraid it's part of his unending charm!” Combeferre echoed from the kitchen, poking his head around to stare at Enjolras with badly hidden concern. “Does he feel too hot, to you, R?”

  
“He's above normal, not that bad though.” Grantaire noted placing a hand on Enjolras’ head.

  
“Hmmm,” Enjolras mumbled, liking the cool hand on his head. “When'd you get here?”

  
Grantaire rose an eyebrow at his snuffling, boyfriend and removed his hand. “When Courfeyrac ran into me this morning, during coffee hour.”

  
“Not coffee hour!” Enjolras croaked overdramatically.

  
“Don't be a brickhead, I have access to Christmas music.” Grantaire threatened. “Anyway, he ran into me and half gave me a heart attack, saying I should see you before you passed on.”

  
“Over-exaggeration.” Enjolras muttered shifting his feet into Grantaire’s lap.

  
“It won't be an exaggeration if you don't take some medicine. At this moment I fear you're going for the pre-death appearance.” Combeferre commented stepping around Grantaire's feet and holding out a glass and two pills for Enjolras to take.

  
“I'm sure I'm not that bad,” Enjolras said taking the pills and water.

  
“Considering I can smell you from here, and I'm questioning why I'm talking to you right now.” Grantaire said, “it's safe to assume it's bad.”

  
Enjolras swallowed the pills and down the water, and then handed the glass back to Combeferre who walked away without a word. Enjolras ran a hand through his curls and burrowed back into his next, bringing Grantaire with him.

  
“If I get sick because of you, I swear to every deity out there I will be unforgiving.” Grantaire muttered tucking Enjolras’ head under his chin and adjusting Enjolras so he lay in front of Grantaire.

  
“Then I'll look after you,” Enjolras whispered blinking owlishly.

  
“Mhm, sure you will; after you have a miniature freak out.” Grantaire chuckled.

  
Grantaire tightened his arms around his blond, mess of a boyfriend and drew out patterns on Enjolras’ back. He continued drawing soothingly till he was sure that the blond was asleep.

  
“Is he sleeping?” Combeferre whispered lowly, popping out from the hallway.

  
“Yeah,” Grantaire said equally quiet, “it's not bad right, just a cold or something?”

  
“Definitely a cold, there at least twenty going around right now.” Combeferre said giving the pair a small smile. “He'll be fine in a day or two.”

  
“Good, EnjFlu is something I don't want to deal with,” Grantaire mumbled rubbing a calloused hand over the fuzzy, curls.

  
-:-

  
Combeferre’ assumption of Enjolras’ illness was right, it was short lived but annoyingly contagious. It bumbled through the Les Amis with no mercy. From Grantaire to Combeferre, Bahorel to Courfeyrac and Jehan, Eponine to Feuilly, Joly to Musichetta, Marius to Cosette, and even Javert the local police sergeant. The illness managed annoyingly to bypass Gavroche and Bossuet, who took it with a wide grin and a skip. The skip ending with Bossuet in A&E with a concussion and a broken rib.

  
And of course, Enjolras didn't suffer through his Illness submissively, he just had to attempt the office with the gracefulness of an elephant. It was safe to say that Grantaire and Combeferre dragged him back home by the ears.

  
“Explain to me why you've all camped out in the lounge, of my apartment?” Enjolras asked as he stepped over tangled blankets, and carefully handled a tray of ginger and cinnamon tea.

  
“Your place is clean, tidy and has heaps of space.” Marius croaked from his spot at the table, towel covered head bowed over a bowl of Vicks vapor rub and boiling water. He'd been there for ten minutes in an attempt to clear his clogged sinuses.

  
“You said you'd look after me anyway,” Grantaire mumbled accepting the cup of tea handed to him by Enjolras. “Plus my place smells like Satan’s armpit.”

  
“In defense of that faulty statement, I was sick and had a fever.” Enjolras grumbled settling in between Grantaire's shaking form and Courfeyrac’s whining one.

  
“You were coherent, I can testify to that!” Combeferre rasped pushing his spectacles on his face properly.

  
“See you in court then,” Enjolras joked taking a long sip from his chipped, giraffe mug.

  
Fin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took way too long.  
> I've been lacking time at present, but here is the final chapter.  
> It's a little rushed, but THANKYOU all who've taken time to like it and read it.  
> XD

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! New stuff, yeah!  
> Hope ya enjoy :3  
> Two more chaps to come: featuring good cooking and sick days, that's if you guys like it.  
> :)


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